Follow Me Through This Big Freeze
by Drones-of-Innocence
Summary: A wintery Valentine's day...England remembers America's first colonising days with a warm heart despite the storm, as well as giving him one of his favourite holidays. But in the meantime, he forgets the time and stares out of his window on the present-day, wishing things could be full of love for he and America once more. Usuk memories!
1. Chapter 1

_"Big Brother! B-b-big brother-rrr-brrr!" a high-pitched, shrill and frightened voice cried from outside, startling the man who was being called._

_He immediately stood up and raced to the front of the cabin, eyes wide with panic. He nearly tripped in his hurry, but managed to grip the entrance and rip it open to usher the newcomer inside without really seeing who it was. Although he knew all too well._

_"America!" he scolded, quickly shutting the door before any of the blizzard could get inside. "What in the name of sanity are you doing out there?! You could freeze a leg off in this weather!" he knelt down in front of the shaken child to dust snow off the poor boy and brushed hair out of his eyes. "What were you thinking?! I specifically remember telling you to stay with the colonists!" his voice softened slightly as the young nation's expression simply fell and he blinked those big blue eyes of his up at his brother. Taken aback a little by this reaction he pulled the smaller into his chest and hugged the shivering soul._

_"But I wanna stay with you, big brother…" America mumbled to Britain's shoulder, still trembling just slightly. "I feel safer with you, and the other people are scary!"_

_"There are a lot more scarier things than just people here," Britain said sternly, giving America a disapproving and dark look. But before he could go on, the little nation had hid his face in the elder's wool jacket, probably still feeling cold. So, Britain rolled his green eyes and shook his head, chuckling as he scooped up the little boy to give him a blanket further in the temporary dwelling. "Nevermind. You warm up here, and I'll get you something to eat."_

_He smiled warmly and patted a giggling America's head, then stood up to head behind him. Out of America's line of sight, he winced and looked around worriedly._

_He had led these people here, the colonists who were living as he was. He was here because he was going to help America grow up as a nation, through the twists and turns so he could live on his own without help, eventually. He had expected a harsh winter up in the Northern parts of the country, so he instructed the newcomers to construct cabins and little houses for themselves and their families before it was too late. It was a good thing too; many more would have died at this point if they hadn't._

_But, being England, the instinct to protect America became overpowering. He didn't want the little boy to suffer like he did as a child. He didn't want him to know what hunger was, what it felt like to be frozen. He needed all the help he could get, so idealizing the whole 'Fully-Fledged Nation' goal to the people allowed them to feel the same way. So the colonists were on his side._

_The only problem was food was short. And America had already had his helping today. England had regretted to mention the whole idea of rationing to him, so he wouldn't have understood at first. Nevertheless, Britain didn't hesitate to give America his own serving, as he had for the past five days._

_"I'll be right back!" he called as he grabbed his old green cloak and rushed to the door, trying not to look at America as he went._

_"But you could freeze a leg off in that weather!" he heard his little brother call from the other side just as he reached the door._

_Britain stopped, but didn't turn around. "...Are you getting cheeky on me, America?" he asked, smiling as he remembered those had been his exact words._

_"No, sir!" America replied gleefully, and England laughed as he exited the miniature house towards the white storm outside._

_America had to stay strong if he was going to survive, he told himself as he gritted his teeth and shielded his face from the sudden rush of wind, making snow fly about him like spindly fingertips. Already shivering, he carefully made way to the shed just across from his little den, where a couple of the people were already gathering. He was struggling, as the snow was deeper than he'd originally thought. So his progress was stiff and stalled._

_Everyone looked up as he eventually stumbled in to join them, his blonde hair matted with snow, and face and fingers pale. Finally catching his balance on the dark wooden floor, he weakly mumbled an apology before heading towards the kind woman who made a huge pot of soup for everyone everyday. She was an honorable young lady; she worked so hard to make as big a batch as she could out of what was available. It was never half-bad either; everyone was lucky to have such a talented cook here. She smiled at him as he approached and offered a bowl that had been ready for him._

_"Mr. England?" someone asked from behind._

_"Mmm? Yes? What is it?" he turned around, confused._

_"You're giving yours to the boy again, right?" asked the old man, looking up at him as he shivered. A young girl, presumably his granddaughter, was holding a blanket around his shoulders in hopes of keeping the poor man warm._

_England nodded. "I have to." he replied nonchalantly, tilting his head just slightly. He turned his body so he was fully facing the man and blinked. "Why do you ask?" He mentally winced as he realised how defensive that sounded._

_The aged elder made a move to stand, and nearly fell as soon as he did. It was good the little girl was there to keep him up as he suddenly held out his own bowl, smiling with old eyes. "Take mine. You should eat, too." he said softly, his hand trembling from the effort. Britain was taken aback with shock and took a small step behind him._

_"N-no, I can't do that!" he exclaimed. "You need it a lot more than I do. Thank you, though." he turned heel and made a move to leave, but the old man stopped him once more._

_"Mr. England...I'm a dying old man, ill and weak. There's nothing better I could do, nothing more I would like to see. Consider it a gift for Valentine's day. Please take it." his voice was low, and dead serious._

_Britain turned again and marched right up to the colonist. His eyes shone with time-old grief and ancient sorrow. Centuries full of regret. "I will not." he stated firmly, his jaw clenching. "I will not lose another one of you here, so you take it and you eat because I refuse to accept it even if you offer it to me. I need you here more than you think. America can't grow if there's no one like you to live here." he couldn't help but mentally wince at how shaky his voice was, as it cracked. However, with an expression as hard as flint, he huffed and turned his back with finality._

_"America can't grow without you," the old man countered sadly. "You're all he talks about. He idolizes you, he loves you. You need to be strong to live up to his expectations."_

_England bit back a cry, and instead made a soft choking sound in his attempt to simply be sombre. "I will not make any of you suffer any more than you have to on his behalf. I can't! I'm already going too far above what rights I have over you; asking anything further would be inhumane." he concluded with finality. He opened the door, causing the storm to try to stuff itself inside through the nation who stood in it's way._

_The tears that fell from his eyes as he made a move to depart froze painfully on his cheeks. Grimacing into the harsh storm, he lowered his head in his pain and suffering that made his chest burn, his heart ache._

_"He doesn't just have to be your responsibility," the old man tried one more time, but despite halting for one moment in the doorway, England bitterly drove on, letting the wind push the portal shut behind him._

_He marched through the storm, at the most furious speed the heavens would allow. But, as his respective dwelling faded into view, he paused and looked around him, flinching into the overwhelming current of air._

_And as he stopped, time seemed to freeze around him, as cold as the ice and flurries flying past. He looked before him, at the swath of white surrounding the colony, the sparkling, ever-changing blanket. The simple beauty of it was breathtaking, but...It was the sublimity that really moved the nation. It was him, standing purely alone on this day, here. He could have stayed forever, but seeing his precious, sweet, compassionate little brother in his mind's eye, he drove on, not wanting to leave him alone any longer._

_He entered as swiftly as he could, feeling his knuckled going numb and wishing for cool water to warm them up in. Closing his eyes for a second to sigh, he shuffled weakly towards the living area, prying the bowl from his frozen fingers._

_"Here," he said softly, almost whispering because of the storm as he approached America. "Eat."_

_His brother grinned a thank-you up at him and skipped towards the fire, to heat it up as he did with every meal. With a fond smile, England trudged to his original seat and watched the little boy with loving eyes as he thawed himself out. He could deal with this pain if it meant this young, flourishing life America was could become the great and powerful country England had dreamed to be._

_He looked up as if remembering something, trying to recall what he was doing before the American had fled to his house. Glancing down at his side, he found the little blanket he was making; a soft blue, near-perfect knit. A big heart was embroidered in the centre, and he had sewn a satin sheet on the other side. He was almost finished with it; he had been trimming and knotting the edges together._

_America had already migrated to the table, where he usually ate. England couldn't see him, but he knew this because of his disappearance from the fireplace that he was there. As he finished the blanket, he stood and took a big breath before walking slowly around the corner._

_The little nation was there, as expected, but the still-steaming bowl sat at arm's length from him, as if he'd pushed it away. He didn't look up as England entered. He just stared, very intently at the soup. So, with a small smile, Britain approached and gently draped the blanket across his shoulders, as not to startle him._

_He couldn't help a small chuckle as America grinned and hugged it close. "What's this for?" he asked childishly, observing the heart on it and feeling over it with his fingertips._

_"A holiday I started celebrating a few centuries ago, called Valentine's Day. It's a day when you give things to people you love," the Brit explained, kneeling next to the younger. "I thought you might like something warm to go around with." he gave a side-glance towards those big blue eyes, and got a thrilled laugh in return._

_"So you give things...to people you love," he repeated, making sure he was correct. Assured by England's nod, he continued. "Well...Here." he pushed the bowl of soup towards Britain._

_"A-America, I can't take this," England started to lecture him. "This is for you to eat so you don't go hungry. You don't want to starve, do you?" he laughed nervously._

_America shook his head. "No," he replied. "But I already ate. Earlier today, remember?" his eyes sparkled playfully._

_"Quite well," England sighed. "But this is so you don't feel hungry."_

_"But then you'll feel hungry." America countered._

_"You need it a lot more than I do." Britain felt this was becoming an argument._

_"No," America pushed the bowl even closer, still smiling. "You haven't eaten for a week!"_

_"But this is yours! I got it for you!" England pushed it back, not realising America knew._

_America crossed his arms and grinned. "I'm not hungry," he said gleefully with finalty, and a satisfied tone._

_Britain blinked at him in shock, leaning back a little. He widened his eyes in disbelief as America stood up from his chair and moved beside England, waiting for him to take his place._

_He did. England, who refused to lose an argument or a fight, who never could give into defeat, who was as stubborn as nation-ly possible. And yet, he gave in to his little brother. Perhaps the old man was right; he didn't have to suffer just for the sake of America._

**O~o~O**

"Britain...? Britain!" a voice snapped, startling the Brit out of his memories, out of the lowered, sad gaze out of his frosted window.

"Mmm? Oh, what? Yes, sorry, love..." England muttered. "I...was thinking for a second."

"Five minutes," America corrected in a rather miffed tone through the phone. "Do I have to ask again?"

"Umm, yes. I wasn't listening, love. I apologise."

America sighed; England was reminiscing again. He only ever called him 'love' in that instance. The only reason he was so annoyed was because he'd asked a question that he'd been so nervous to ask. So, with a big breath, he repeated his inquiry, fingering the soft blue blanket in his hands, and rubbing over the big heart in the centre.

"Would you mind coming over to my place for Valentine's day?"

* * *

><p><strong>Well, then XD I suppose that was an appropriate way to end...Happy Valentine's day! I'll update other stories to, but this one just kind of exploded out of my head, through my fingers and on the page XD This was completely inspired by our one snow day we had down here in Texas, and the fact I wanted some fluffy stuff...I dunno XD Enjoy le cuteness~! Love you guys so much! :D<strong>

**~Fezzes64**


	2. Chapter 2

"B-Britain!" America said in nervous happiness as he opened his door to reveal the Englishman, clutching around him a heavy green trench coat(That looked rather cute on him, he had to admit) and hiding his face in a matching scarf. The younger nation blinked in surprise at his appearance; he hadn't really expected England to come over. Well, he did, but he was not mentally prepared to actually see him here. He stared with unsure eyes at him, and in return the British nation mirrored his expression. Suddenly, America had to resist a smile as he watched a small snowflake float one way, then decide to land on the Brit's nose rather than the ground like all the others.

England merely looked at him with a small smile and nodded in greeting, shivering. The poor man looked cold, and it took America a moment, staring at his eyelashes that had a few snowflakes as well. "Oh! Yeah, sorry, come in!" he said quickly, ushering the trembling man indoors and taking his jacket without even giving Britain time to say anything.

"Oh...Thank you," he mumbled tiredly as the American also carefully unwound the scarf from his neck and hung it beside his coat on the coat hanger. He blinked slowly, looking exhausted, and started towards the kitchen since he knew that was where America would take him first. America entered behind him and almost bumped into the Brit when he stopped abruptly.

"Huh? What's wrong?" the younger nation asked, moving up beside him to gently touch his arm and lead him to a bar stool, and see his face. America noticed his magnificent green gaze, narrowed not accusingly, but confusedly. He looked at the usually messy room spiffed up before him, at the cleaned off counter and candles on either side of the island-bar with a vase blooming with roses to boot. It looked really nice, and America knew Britain was at a loss. He looked up with a small proud smile at his work, and realised England had looked downwards at something. He followed his gaze to the little blue blanket he'd forgotten he was holding, and just as England noticed it, America panicked and hid it behind his back. "C-c'mon, you look really cold, dude. Lemme get you something warm to eat," he practically lifted a startled England into a stool and hurried to the stove, where something was bubbling away in a generously large pot.

He threw the little blanket into the living room at an angle he hoped was out of Britain's line of sight and watched out of the corner of his eye as the man observed him quietly, blowing into his hands and rubbing them together to try to warm them up. America felt bad for him; he'd dragged him on a holiday all the way out to his place where it was slightly colder than usual around this time of year. He knew in England it probably rained _and_ snowed, but he'd checked, and it was actually a really good day over there right now. Well, night; Britain was six hours ahead. So, late night. Really late night.

"I'm, uh…" he started awkwardly as he stirred the substance in the pot. Britain continued to watch him. "I'm glad you came! I didn't mean to make it seem like I was forcing you to come over, I mean it is a holiday after all!" he laughed nervously and cast a casual glance back at Britain.

"Oh, no, it's quite alright," the Brit replied calmly, blinking warmly and resting his chin on his knuckles with his fingers laced. He kept a straight face as he usually did, and America turned his attention back to the boiling soon-to-be-meal to hide a smile. He was so cute. But there was something wrong, like he was ill…He was paler than usual, and there was this look in his eyes as if he were heartbroken.

"Are you sure? I kinda just wanted company for today, I didn't know if you were busy." he tried to figure out a way to keep the conversation going, just for his sanity; he was so nervous and couldn't stop fidgeting. He noticed the man behind him shake his head slightly and avert his gaze to the granite table. America frowned. Was that a yes?

Britain decided to change the subject. "You cleaned up the place," he commented after a while, fingering the petals of a rose in the vase next to him. "...It looks nice, Alfred."

Whoah. Real name. "Oh, really? Thank you!" America decided he'd stirred enough and gathered the courage to turn around and pull up a stool across from England and grin at him. He appeared occupied tracing the designs on the vase, and the American suddenly frowned. He was so pale...He tilted his head and leaned over to put a hand on his forehead. But as soon as he placed his cool palm against the Brit's head, he frowned. "A-Arthur, you're burning up! Are you alright?" he asked worriedly, deciding to use his real name too at the last minute.

"Your vase is rather pretty, I must say. Why did you invite me over, again?" Britain replied dazedly, leaning his head slightly into America's hand. Oh dear. He looked tired, and he didn't seem to want to talk about it.

"It's, um, Vase, by the way, not 'Vahz'. But dude! I'm serious!" America took back his hand and stood up to come around to England's side of the table. Britain sat up a little more in surprise, frowning at him curiously, and America didn't know how because his back had already been perfectly straight. At least he thought. "Are you alright?" he inquired softly, reaching for his hands. Before England could answer, the younger nation pulled his own hands back in shock, then quickly took England's hands again and pulled them to his chest. "Iggy, your hands are freezing!"

"O-oi! Wh-what are you doing?" Britain's eyes widened in alarm, and his cheeks turned a slight hue of red. But it looked rather odd because the rest of his face was almost paper-white. He tried to pull his hands away. "A-Alfred-!"

America held Britain's hands close. "Dude. I'm serious."

England stared with stressed, worried eyes at America's, and finally gave up. "I-I'm fine, I just have a headache and I'm tired. There is nothing wrong with me." he said quietly, averting his gaze desperately to avoid the other's searching expression.

America pondered this for a moment, then, without a word, he stood and reluctantly let go of Britain's hands. He returned to the pot, and retrieved two bowls, smiling slightly. He used a large ladle to pour the soup in each, and paused to take a breath. Then, with a strange happiness he handed a bowl to the counter and slid it forwards to England, whose eyes widened in surprise. The soup...It registered and he recognised it with a nervous thrill, America saw.

He came around the table once more as Britain was about to refuse a meal and stopped him before he could say anything. "I-Iggy…" he said softly, for no particular reason. This confused Britain enough to crease his impressive brows slightly, unable to read the larger nation's expression. Granted, America did feel a bit strange, but it was a good strange, like he was happy but he'd forgotten why. Then without England knowing what he was doing, or himself, for that matter, America leaned in, grasped Britain gently, and pressed his lips to the older nation's.

England was mystified; eyes wide, face finally regaining a rather full colour. America only opened his eyes slightly to see this, having being in a beautifully unexpected state of mind. Poor Britain, he didn't know what he was supposed to do; his hands flailed at first, but he eventually pulled them to his chest as America gingerly rubbed the tendons in the back of his neck rather soothingly. He assumed it felt nice because England then closed his eyes, not sure how to feel.

Then America snapped out of it and realised what he was doing.

"A-ah…" he said awkwardly as they parted, slowly releasing the man. England's eyes fluttered open a little late, and he blushed a very dark shade of red. America nearly melted; his striking green eyes were searching and curious, and had a slightly dreamy look. But he was so confused at the same time…

America felt his face warm up as well. "I-I, um…I heard somewhere that kissing helps with headaches," He said quickly, then stepped back, ran and got England a spoon and grabbed his own bowl, then retreated to the living room where he curled up in a chair and clutched the little blue blanket. He didn't know what to do or say now, and was afraid England would come after him. Luckily, after a while, he heard the clink of spoon to bowl and he breathed a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding.

He breathed into his blanket, finding its' scent calming. He could feel his heart thundering like marching drums in his chest and it took him a bit more slow inhale-exhaling to pacify him. Did he really just do that? He shuddered at the recent memory, smiling but trying not to. Deciding he should probably eat his soup, he ate it quickly and thought about the event that had just occurred. He'd wanted to try it for a while, granted, but he'd never been brave enough before now. But what he'd just felt wasn't bravery, or courage, or even the heroism he treasured so dear. If that wasn't it, what was it? Was it a side-affect of just being in England's presence? Or was it just a mindless impulse?

Regardless, he had no idea, and he didn't want to know, really. He almost wanted to forget the entire incident; it was far too embarrassing and he was afraid to face Britain again. For a fleeting moment, he considered running away to his other house across the country, but then he would feel bad because England would have come for absolutely no reason and things would be infinitely awkward between them. As if it wasn't already.

He had to face the Brit again; he didn't have a choice. But...Not now.

America glanced out the window, sighing at the now dark sky and setting his bowl aside. He had invited England over in order to not be completely alone. Selfish, right? He figured England might feel lonely too, but he'd only set up nicely to make his place look decent, not to make it seem remotely romantic or anything. Now, mind you, this didn't keep him from wishing it was so, but it wasn't...necessarily intended.

There was a sudden noise of porcelain sliding across granite, and America jumped and sprung to his feet, startled. Britain had finished eating, he guessed, so it was his cue.

So he awkwardly meandered back in the room and halted abruptly, hesitating. The British man still sat there, trying to warm his hands. His face was still a rosy shade of pink, and...was he smiling? He was looking downwards so his blonde tresses covered his eyes, but America was almost certain he was grinning to himself.

He took a deliberately louder step to announce his presence, and the Englishman started in alarm.

"Oh, uh, sorry," the younger nation apologised. "I...Um, do you need anything?"

England didn't turn to face him. "N-no, thank you," he mumbled in reply, wringing his hands.

There was an awkward silence. An intermission, if you will.

"Ah…" Britain said after a while, flipping his wrist to look at his watch. "It's a little late, I should be getting home soon." He said as if he were making an announcement and frowned.

America smiled wryly and strode over to him, putting a hand to his forehead again without warning. He was still warm...He cast a side-glance towards the man and shook his head slightly. "No, you shouldn't go home; you're running a fever." as if to emphasise his point, he pressed the back of his hand to the Brit's cheek, which was yet even warmer. The pressure moved the Brit's head slightly and he winced, so America tried not to press as hard. "You should at least stay the night, I don't think you're well enough."

England scoffed, moving America's hand away. "Ludicrous," he stated indignantly. "I'm perfectly fine, America."

The younger pursed his lips. "I really don't think so, Iggy." He replied nervously as he noted the dark circles under Britain's eyes. "Even if you do feel alright, I kind of wanted you to stay anyway…" He looked away, slightly guiltily, knowing this would win the older man over.

The Brit let out a deep sigh with a rather annoyed expression, and America sensed he was giving in. He hesitated, then said "My headache isn't bothering me anymore, but fine; I'll sleep here for tonight." he made a move to slide off the stool, and huddled his arms as he shivered. The American, however, was stopped cold. '_My headache isn't bothering me anymore'_..._He wasn't referring to_…? he dared to think it was...But it couldn't be...He was about to ask, but he realised England was planning on sleeping in the living room.

"Uh-uh, no sir," he said, quickly intercepting Britain's course by looping his arms around the Englishman's torso. "You're getting a bedroom, not the main room."

Britain struggled half-heartedly, not really all that determined anyway. "It would be rude to make you do that, if you're going to make me stay the least I can do is be the least possible burden I can." he winced, leaning forward slightly in America's grasp. "I'm trying to tell you, I'm perfectly fine."

"Iggy, if I thought you were a burden, I wouldn't have invited you over. You're my guest, and I'm going to take care of you." America replied, gently tugging England back and shepherding him the other way.

Britain huffed irritatedly, and stumbled with a bit of resistance against America's lead. "Alfred, I am very capable of looking after myself," he insisted sternly, but the patriot wouldn't be moved and ushered him towards the stairs. America could not hold back a grin, having to force the Brit to step up the stairs, and finding it extremely amusing that in his attempt to be less of a burden, he was being a struggle instead.

"Come on," America coaxed, trying not to laugh, but England noticed and blushed both angrily and embarrassedly. "I'm telling you, you're not a bother! Really Iggy, I expected more of a gentleman such as yourself." he teased, poking the Brit's eyebrows.

That was enough; Britain finally stomped up the stairs, feigning anger, but America knew he was just agitated and distressed. He still wasn't assured that his presence was alright. He was so sweet...A quick blush dusting his cheeks, the younger nation quickly jogged up the stairs and steered England away from another upstairs living room, having to nudge him along down the hall and jovially remark on his stubborn reluctance.

"Alright, alright, what is this all about?" England huffed and turned around, crossing his arms as America tried to prompt him through the door to a guest bedroom not far from his own.. "Something is up with you and I can't for the life of me fathom what has gotten into you this time." he puffed his chest out indignantly, refusing to go any further, but America rested his hands on either side of the doorframe so Britain couldn't go back either.

He merely smiled. "I don't really know either, but I figure it's Valentine's Day and we should celebrate it the way we used to." he replied evenly. He had no idea what he was saying at this point but really didn't care; it ended up making sense.

England's eyes widened and he leaned back against the door in shock, but before he could say anything America twisted the doorknob to enter. At least he had the decency to catch England before he stumbled to the floor, and Britain grunted in slight discomfort when he was pulled back to his feet and led further in the room. "Wha-? A-America, really, what are you doing?" he began to sound a little scared.

"Whoah, calm down, Iggy, sheesh," America teased, grinning at him. "Wow you're really red! Just relax, dude." he suggested, and gave him a gentle nudge towards his bed. He meant it to be gentle, anyway, he accidentally made trip over his own feet and fall flat on his back on the bed. "Whoops, sorry bruh," he apologised quickly, suddenly remembering he wasn't feeling too well. He was stabbed with a thick blade of guilt when he watched the Brit sit up with a wince, but there wasn't really anyway to make up for that.

He took a moment to breathe in deeply, not realising the way he was looking at England, like a wounded puppy. "I, um…" he began somewhat awkwardly. "There are pajamas in the dresser, and you know where the bathroom and stuff is, right?"

Arthur had a almost wide-eyed look at him. "Yes." he answered a little robotically, and also a little late.

"Alright, good!" Alfred made a half-hearted grin, finding it difficult to tear away all of a sudden. He had to force himself to face the door, after getting a strange urge to kiss England again. "And you'll be okay, right? If you need anything, you know where my room is." as he walked out, he tried to do the math in his head. Arthur was probably about ready to faint, since his mind was still in London time, and he'd been up almost six hours past his usual time to go to sleep. But judging on who he was talking about, the Brit had probably been up a lot longer than twenty-four hours, at the least.

Classic Britain. America made a sweet smile as he gently closed his door behind him. He always tried to get everything done even at the cost of his own health. But Alfred would make sure he got enough rest this time. Neither of them may have been human, but they still needed good rest.

He got into his own room with a sigh, glancing at it watch. It was now a minute into February 15th. Maybe...give him about five more minutes? Yeah, that seemed about right. America smiled to himself and quickly got changed into his favourite pajama pants. Normally he slept without a shirt, but it was a little cold for any of that tonight. By the time he'd brushed his teeth and checked his phone for any updates, he figured enough time had passed. So the American grabbed a pillow and quietly tiptoed outside his own room.

The only light he had was the moon outside from the windows. He had one more thing to do, and that was to retrieve that little blue blanket from downstairs. So with as little noise as possible, he hopped down the stairs, and went into the main room to grab the soft source of comfort. Just as quickly, he worked his way back upstairs, and stopped in front of England's door.

Before he went inside, he pressed his ear to the door to listen. But fortunately he heard nothing; the man probably fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. So with an amused smile, America slowly turned the knob and slipped inside the dark room.

The sight was...majestic, for lack of a better word. The moonlight was just as bright in this room, and it shined right on the bed where England lay. This off course, sprung up many more feelings in America's chest. He tucked the pillow and the blanket under his arm and pulled the blue curtains closed, so the sunlight wouldn't awaken either of them. Then, with a barely contained grin, he went over to the bed, tossed the pillow next to Arthur, and slowly eased himself beside the older nation. He pulled the big white comforter over himself as well as Britain, and then wrapped the blue blanket around their shoulders.

Finally, he pulled England into a bear hug, angling himself towards the window and making sure Arthur would not be able to pull away in the morning, when he woke up.

He couldn't resist pressing a kiss to the Brit's forehead, either.


	3. Chapter 3

Throughout his sleep, America had woken up several times from a series of bad dreams, all depicting scenarios he never wanted to think about. Each time, he awoke with a slight start, almost cringing into consciousness. They wouldn't get out of his head, the evils and nightmares that had bothered him on rare nights, which, unfortunately had to include this one.

However, each time he woke up, he immediately found himself surrounded by comfort. The familiar scent would wash over him, the warmth would soothe his fearful mind, all until America was all but lulled into a dazed state that allowed him to fall back to sleep. For brief peaceful dreams, of course, but the bad ones stuck out the most.

Finally, he was awoken for a different reason.

There was a tingly feeling along the top of his head and the nape of his neck that made him shudder a little bit, but in a pleasant way. Something cool was touching him, and, guessing by the warmth around him, it was the slender fingers of a hand he knew well.

"Mmnnh…" he moaned quietly, shifting and hearing the sheets around him. "Iggy, your hands are cold…"

His memory wasn't quite caught up, so he wasn't really sure why he could smell England all around him, or why he was stroking America's hair. But he was right, and he didn't mind the least. He was answered by the gentle stroking stopping and instead turning into rubbing his back.

"Well, good morning." he heard England say softly in consideration for a sleepy America, with a small smile in his voice. "It's about time; you've been out for awhile. Did you sleep well?"

Shifting closer and wrapping his arms around England to pull him closer, America shook his head with a vaguely upset expression. "Uh-uh." he whined, burying his face in England's chest.

He heard England hum sadly, and a short kiss on top of his head was enough to make America shiver and close his eyes again, both chilled and warmed. "Why not?" England asked him, his voice muffled by America's hair. That only made America want to nestle closer, if it were possible, and hold onto England tightly; the warmth and affection felt so nice.

"Bad dreams." he mumbled into England's shirt, still sounding tired and a little husky with sleep. "Lots of them...Thought they were...Real…"

England chuckled warmly, and continued to stroke America's back. "I'm sorry you didn't sleep well...But you'll be okay, you're awake now. Nothing to be afraid of, I'm not going anywhere." he added, as if he interpreted America's tighter hold on him as desperate to keep him there. There was still a smile very evident in his tone. As if to reassure America, England shifted his head so he could ever-so-softly press a kiss to America's temple, and then to his cheek. It felt so nice that America let out a contented noise in response.

He lay there for a moment, just breathing. "What...What about you…? Did you sleep okay?" he asked sleepily when he started to doze off again. Beginning to remember the previous day, he finally managed to remember why England was there in the first place. He smiled.

"Yes, I had a very long and lovely rest. I assume you did that on purpose, what with you closing the blinds and coming in to sleep with me. I slept for a long time, thanks to you." he turned his head down and nuzzled the crook of America's neck.

That earned him a giggle; England probably knew America was ticklish there and did that on purpose. He squirmed faintly in protest, but America made no move to get away. "You're still tired," he said, grinning and starting to move himself up so his head was on a pillow and not lost somewhere in England's pyjamas. "You didn't wake up too long ago."

"Now what makes you say that?" as soon as he was even with England and faced with his gorgeous green eyes, his hand left his back and came up to slowly trace down America's cheek. The man was smiling at him, really genuinely smiling, and it was a rare sight that America wanted to keep forever. He also just wanted to press endless kisses to his flawless face until he wasn't capable of doing so anymore.

America sighed deeply, remembering that he had lungs, before he replied, hesitantly reaching to touch England's chest. As if sensing America's uncertainty, England moved forward just enough to press himself against America's hand, showing it was alright. "You're being all nice to me. You only do that when you're tired." America told him, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

At that, England feigned a small pout with those perfect lips of his, and his eyebrows creased lines into his forehead like he was pretending to be upset for a child. "What, I'm not allowed to be nice to you any other time?" he slowly propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over America, supporting himself by resting his other hand on the bed after reaching across America's broad shoulders. The enclosure didn't unnerve America at all, in fact, it was rather comforting.

"No." he shook his head and bit his lip to hold back another giggle, and noticed England's lips twitch like he was trying to hold back a wide smile down at him. "You can only be nice when you're tired. I don't make the rules." he shrugged as best as he could laying down, and it became very hard to not start laughing, evident in how his breathing became a little uneven.

"Hmm, I suppose it can't be helped. I'll have to be very mean to you, then." England hummed thoughtfully, looking like he had to consider America's words deeply. He tried to leer then, but it was very obvious he was just smiling. "You've been very bad, America." Then, without any kind of warning, he leaned down to press his face to the ticklish part of America's neck again.

Letting out an odd high pitched noise, America finally couldn't hold back all the giggles that rose up from his chest, and laughed helplessly as England forcefully nuzzled him. "Ahh! Why are you so evil, Iggy?" he asked in a breathless voice, only to he answered by England's hand suddenly running up and down America's stomach.

Of course he knew exactly where America was ticklish, it really wasn't hard; almost every part of America's body was ticklish in some way, England just knew the places that got more reactions out of him. That was why he let out a squeal and squirmed harder, laughing uncontrollably. He vaguely heard England laughing too, especially when he shifted up a little so he could use both hands on America's stomach. He practically spasmed whenever England touched a specific part of his upper stomach, so of course England was very strategic in this peculiar quest and was careful to space out the time in between the moments he went there.

Not like America could really tell, he was moving around so much and laughing so hard that it was hard to tell exactly what England was doing to make him react as he was. "I-Iggyyyy!" he wailed, his body only half-trying to push England off as an instinct reaction to being tickled. He felt like that dead fish that came back to life with that magic sauce stuff.

"I don't make the rules either," England replied, his voice shaking with his mirth too. Just as he said that, he'd reached up to squeeze the tendon in America's shoulder, startling him into jerking so fast he almost hit England. Very ruthlessly and with a cat-like grin, he let America fall into a false sense of security, his laughter starting to die down weakly, before he abruptly lifted America's shirt and started giving him raspberries all over his stomach. That was enough to make America practically let out a shriek of laughter and start wiggling even harder than before in a mindless attempt to escape.

England mercilessly continued to drag it out, especially over the particularly ticklish spot where the tip of America's left lung met with his sharply tensed core muscles. Each time he did, America near convulsed, laughing so much that he sounded like he was sobbing.

After a while, England finally let America free from his little siege, and crawled back up to face him after tugging down his shirt back down. To calm down the panting, giggling nation, he stroked his hair patiently until he could get under control again, smiling warmly down at him. "It's alright, I'm done, I promise," he assured America when he shifted and America jerked with a slightly more panicked laugh like he was expecting to be tickled more. Grinning breathlessly up at England, America finally managed to relax after a little bit with the help of England's soothing caressing.

"S-so mean," he laughed, his breathing starting to sound like weary wheezing, but getting better. England's hand came up to wipe a tear away while America struggled to ease himself.

With a guilty smile, England pressed his forehead against America's. "Hnn, I'm sorry," he apologised sincerely, looking reluctant to do much more than that. But America was far from hurt and shook his head with a smile, tilting his chin up to land a kiss on England's cheek.

He grinned when England's cheeks went a little pink. "Nothing to be sorry for," he smiled, reaching up to pull England down on top of him. Once they were situated comfortably, America sighed deeply, and almost started laughing again when he watched England go up and down. England rolled his eyes with a slight smile when he realised why America was making such a funny face.

They laid their for awhile, just listening to each other's breathing and becoming bed-warmed again. It was very peaceful; America basically forgot about all of his bad dreams just with the presence of England, who looked a little bit shy about his current position. He seemed to be alright with it though, and America knew if he asked him, he'd say "just as long as it's alright with you."

Turning his head to look out the window with a smile, America finally got his mind around all that was happening. He almost couldn't believe it; England was being insanely nice to him after their odd night, and seemed perfectly content with him! He didn't seem to be ill at all, which was great news. America had been worried about him, but now England seemed a little bit cheerful.

England shifted a little bit, resting the side of his head on America's chest."What time is it?" he asked, his voice sounding completely calm and relaxed, which made America's heart flutter a little. He noticed England's eyes were shut, and his hand was placed near America's. Daring to take the opportunity, America gingerly took his hand and intertwined their fingers.

America looked around for a watch or a clock, and noticed the alarm set on the nightstand. "Quarter 'til noon." he replied casually as if it were nothing new to him, whilst playing with England's hand.

"What?!" England looked up abruptly in the direction of the alarm clock, and sat up just as fast in such a way that he pinned America's arm to the bed and practically straddled his torso. He had to lean forward, squinting at the clock to confirm it. "Good God." he muttered, starting to look down, only just then realising what he was doing.

Looking up at him with a bright red face and wide eyes, America watched the slight shock play across England's face. "A-ah-uh-o-oh. I-I'm terribly sorry." England muttered, shifting back and off of America on the bed. Then, sensing the increasing awkwardness, he stood up and started walked a little aimlessly around the room.

"It's alright!" America told him, after clearing his throat and sitting up. He watched England meander around, almost like a dog not sure what to do with himself despite the fact that he needed to do something. So he paced. Tilting his head a little, America almost didn't follow up with his statement, and found himself fascinated with the particular sophistication and grace of England's movements that he could vaguely see. "Oh, uh, you want to, um, go downstairs?" he suggested, rubbing at his eyes.

Glancing back, England suddenly turned and walked towards the nightstand, picking up something off of there. In a smooth instant, he'd sat on the bed, and reached forward to gently put on America's glasses. "That sounds good." he agreed, unable to hold back a soft smile when America grinned widely at the gesture. Once he'd stood back up and started to walk out of the room, America hopped out of bed and ran after him.

England jumped when America came up behind him and hugged him without warning. However, he relaxed just as quickly, and merely offered a small smile and a slight lean back like he was returning it, before he continued on his way. Delighted, America followed.

After doing various morning things to properly wake up, they both ended up in the kitchen, where America prepared a pot of coffee and began boiling water in a separate kettle for England so he could make tea, for which he pointed out his embarrassingly small collection in the cabinet. Then, while making breakfast, America pointed out the snowy weather while England walked around behind America. He seemed to guess that he wasn't allowed near any of the appliances. However, as America stood and messed with the eggs, trying to flip them with the spatula, England approached him a little shyly and hugged him around his waist. "You're being too kind to me." he murmured in America's ear. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Successfully flipping the eggs, America turned around and hugged England back, rather firmly around his shoulders. He didn't say anything, instead, he just smiled and pressed his face into England's shoulder for a moment before getting back to his 'duty' of feeding them both.

Soon, they were both sat at the table, eating silently and enjoying one another's company. England made a faintly surprised noise when he glanced out the window and found that they were snowed in, but it was nothing upset or urgent. He would be content with staying.

That made America very happy, of course, as he'd wanted to spend the day with England. And maybe the next day. And the next. Or beyond as well. In his quiet excitement, he'd finished his breakfast very quickly, and felt awkward when he realised England was trying to desperately hold back a chuckle to spare him the embarrassment. Sipping at his coffee with a blush, America opted to stare at the window.

Once England had finally finished and America had cleaned their dishes as well as the kitchen, he found England in his living room looking through a couple of books. He had '1984' and 'The Great Gatsby' in his arm, and he looked interested in 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.'

"You just like all the classics, don't you?" America asked curiously, gently lifting up '1984' to see what else he was holding.

England glanced at him. "I was good friends with the authors." he explained, starting to put them back up on the shelf. "George Orwell- well, Mr. Eric Blair was a peculiar fellow but I enjoyed his company. Mr. Douglas Adams was quite funny as well…" he looked slightly sad that neither of them were around anymore. "I never got to know Mr. Fitzgerald very well, you might have. I don't always enjoy the genre, but they all wrote of the realities of the present and the fears of the future, and it's just...Some humans seem to see that more than we can. So they give us warnings in these classics."

America was a little too tired to try to understand what England was saying, but he nodded like he was following. He did agree that they were good books, even if he didn't always interpret them correctly. For instance, he read 'The Great Gatsby' as a tale of misfortune at first, rather than the whole underlying metaphor of the failing American Dream. "Wells is pretty good...I liked Animal Farm…" he murmured, though he'd never actually read that one. England gave him an odd look.

"Wells? As in H. G. Wells? You're thinking of Orwell. Wells wrote 'The Time Machine.'" he corrected, sounding like he didn't even have to think about it.

Eventually, they wound up sitting on the couch watching the telly. Well, America was; England had settled on reading 'The War of the Worlds,' which America didn't even know he had. Apparently, America didn't own a single book that England hadn't read before except for ones that England deemed they were 'aimed for an audience too young for his taste.' That meant all the ones that America actually liked.

Not even paying attention to what was on, America repeatedly looked at England, trying to figure out a way to cuddle with the reading Englishman in a subtle way. It had to be evident, just not so blatant that it was painfully obvious. Shifting around, America made a few quiet noises of self frustration, not able to figure it out, though when England's eyes flashed up to look at him, he quickly pretended to be upset with the movie and not with the fact that he couldn't hold the man two inches from him.

After he adjusted his position one more time, out of several at odd intervals within the span of ten minutes, England set down his book on his lap and looked at America. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, seeing that nothing on the telly was worth getting uncomfortable for. Unless you were just one kinky bastard, at least. "Can't you sit still?"

In answer, America frowned, and pulled on England's arm. Glancing down to his lap and then back up at England, he tried to insinuate what he wanted, as he was a little embarrassed to just ask. Initially, England didn't seem to get it. "Use your words, you child." he rolled his eyes at first, before he finally got America's implication. "Oh...You want me to...Oh."

America nodded eagerly, and smiled when England hesitantly shifted closer, like he wasn't sure if he actually interpreted America's actions correctly. To encourage him, America leaned a little closer and gently pulled the Englishman towards him.

"Careful, I just had a cup of tea," England made a noise which sounded like repressed laughter when America's arms went for his stomach. Giggling, America adjusted his hold and successfully pulled England into his arms comfortably.

He noticed England was smiling, and tried his best to make a low, serious voice. "Package fragile, handle with care," he teased, but not completely before he lost himself in a fit of laughter, and felt England throw his head back on his shoulder and chuckle as well.

Once they'd quieted down, England relaxed a lot. So much in fact, that America actually realised how _soft_ he was. When he wasn't all tensed up, he was really nice to hold. America got so caught up with holding England that he started looking at the book he was reading and actually made a noise of protest when England started to turn the page before he was done. "Oh, haha, sorry." he laughed nervously when England looked at him, slightly startled.

That went on for awhile too. Reading the book together, America also found some nonexistent excuse to touch England, stroking his hair, rubbing his shoulders, playing with his fingers. He just had to take in the fact that he was holding this gorgeous, sophisticated, complicated, wise man in his arms. He was unwinding too! America could just feel the tension leaving him with every passing moment, and he absolutely loved it.

"Hmm, I love you," he murmured without thinking, turning his head to nuzzle England's cheek affectionately while grasping his hand.

A brief moment of silence made America realise what he had done.

Eyes widening, America felt his face heat up in humiliation while he reluctantly released England's hand. He was absolutely horrified, and a million things zoomed past his mind before the next second came. It should have been obvious that he'd felt something for sure, but it wasn't right to just say it! Not without any context or reason, right?

England turned to face America with a slight smile before he edged closer and gingerly kissed America's lips for just a second. "I love you, too." he returned, looking quite pleased, before he turned back to keep reading his book. By the looks of it and the colour of his cheeks, it was also done out of shyness.

By then, America hid his face in England's shoulder, too embarrassed to do anything else. He did notice that their hands were still intertwined.

O~o~O

The rest of the day saw them relaxing listlessly and very happily, with nothing to do and no one demanding anything of them. England finished 'The War of the Worlds' quite quickly, which wasn't a big surprise since he'd read it several times before. America talked him into reading some of it out loud, and it got to the point where he wasn't even paying attention to the story itself, just the life and tone England gave it. At one point, some silly romantic comedy came on the telly, and America laughed and got England to slow dance with him during the musical, waltz-y bit. He pretended to be the girl, and let England spin him around and attempt to dip him, which didn't work out as well.

Nevertheless, even as they collapsed laughing on the floor, it was obvious both of them were enjoying themselves and one another.

"...Iggy?" America asked, as they were still laying on the floor. He was slowly rubbing his hand up and down England's back while looking up at the skylight, which was grey from all the snow piled up on it.

"Mmm?" England asked, that being the only sign that he didn't actually fall asleep.

"Do you remember that blue blanket you made for me?"

"Of course I do."

"...I still have it."

"Do you, now?"

"Mmhm." America remembered he'd left it in the room they'd slept in, and England had probably seen it anyway, but he was just asking for the sake of asking.

With a glance down, America saw that England was smiling. He was glad America still had it, as it meant something to both of them. Something beyond what they had felt since the time it had first been given.

America remembered with a wince when he'd thrown it at England in a fit of rage just before the Revolution had gotten under way. England probably remembered that too, as well as the time well after when the blanket was folded up in a small box along with a small variety of other gifts on America's doorstep one night. That was also a long time ago, around the time America became a world power. America had almost cried that night, as it was more of a token of forgiveness than anything else. Whatever had been fought over before was over with.

They had so much history. It was hard to believe that two and a half centuries could hold so much pain and joy between them both. Judging by the softness of the fond green eyes looking up at him now, America guessed England was thinking about the same thing. Only now, the pain didn't really hurt so much anymore.

"...Do you remember…?" America started to ask, when England began shifting upward to face him.

"Yes." England answered in a whisper, seeming to know exactly what America was wondering.

"Do you still…?"

"Yes."

Their voices dropped so much in volume that the silence seemed to be louder. "Of course it still hurts. It's always going to, neither of us can help it. No amount of apologies and no amount of acceptance can ever make up for it." England told him, and he watched America's expression sadden a little. His hand brushed over England's chest, exactly where he knew the scar was.

"It'll always be there. But that's okay, it's a pain that I never want gone." he was referring to the internal part of it, as the external was as healed as it could be. He reached down and brought America's hands to his lips, kissing his knuckles. "I never want to forget it...I never want it to stop." he murmured, hoping to assure America that it was alright.

England helped America sit up, and America immediately pulled England into a hug. "I love you." he repeated in a slightly upset voice, his arms wrapping around England's slightly smaller body, which he knew was more worn than his was; he was younger, and hadn't seen as much as England had.

"Shh, shh, I love you, too." England soothed him, smiling in a sort of bittersweet way while his lips pressed against America's warm cheek. "It's okay, I promise.

America didn't want to agree, but he knew he couldn't tell England what to feel. He had to be content with what he said. "Okay." he finally said, taking a deep breath and nodding.

O~o~O

Their post-Valentine's day celebration was nothing grand or elaborate, instead it was just the two proud nations lowering their guard and showing a side that only they could be privy to. Of course, it was nothing short of beautiful and loving, as it had been rare to see either of them in this sort of context. But, something had changed. Something that implied...it wasn't over. This could go on, this sort of snowed-in visit wouldn't be the only time they would be like this. It could...It could continue.

This, of course, excited America a lot, and he rambled on and on about several things, and he came back repeatedly to this point. England listened patiently with a smile, probably not understanding all he was saying but listening anyway.

Regardless, they were both happy that this wasn't the end.

O~o~O

**Yet another year added to this yearly updated story...Here's to 2016! Happy Valentine's Day! :D**


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